#much less to get trust/more information!!

[drdemonprince]

Is there a polar opposite of transphobia?

Like I’m a newly transitioned trans man and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me. In a weird way. Like people have started asking me to join committees and talk to youth groups and shit so they have their “representation”. I’m now the token trans person. I live in a small lefty town. People either want to ask me allllll the questions or they are too scared to even talk to me in case they offend me. Suddenly everyone wants to be my friend. I feel like I’ve joined a club I did not agree to sign up to. Like is this normal? Is there a term for it? I have a lot of gay male friends who are awesome, no other trans people local. I’ve started connecting with people online.

I mean some people have been cunts for sure. But mostly it’s nauseating fawning. I know this is a stupid thing to be complaining about but I guess I’m curious.

I’m not that special, I’m actually just an angry little man.

My brother dear, what you are experiencing is a very common combination of the growing visibility & tokenization of being a newly out marginalized person, and the massive increased authority, social trust, social value that comes with being a man.

Welcome to male privilege baby, to put a spin on a far more undermining phrase that typically gets hurled at trans femmes. You will be considered a trustworthy authority on trans issues, a valuable contributor to panels and workshops, a needed (but also highly convenient to access) form of "diversity" for a workplace, a welcome attendee at all manner of events, and you'll be deferred to over women, especially trans women, for pretty much the entire rest of your life, if you continue to remain out about the trans side of things.

Guys like us are invited, centered, included, listened to, treated with respect, treated with WARMTH, viewed as intelligent, perceptive, sensitive, safe, trustworthy, reliable, and desirable to include. In the eyes of the cis public, we are a "safe" kind of trans person who does not make people uncomfortable to look at and who doesn't challenge their pre-existing understanding of gender hierarchy; when they listen to us, they get to trust in the certainty of a MAN giving them information, but they can also feel comfortable and safe around us as a kind of enlightened, sensitive nonthreatening figure.

We're men who can can explain sexism right back to women. We're trans people who went from being subjugated as women to being rewarded with privilege as dudes. In this way, trans men being positioned as an authority figure reinforces the existing gender hierarchy, which feels soothing and right to people's brains.

You will have to be conscious of this power differential for the rest of your life, around cis and trans women alike, because otherwise it plays out in a pretty traditionally sexist fashion: people (especially women) will go quiet when you start speaking, you will be given credit for ideas that were a collective effort, your emotions will be more likely to be taken seriously and seen as a sign of principle rather than weakness, and you will be regarded as special and memorable while dozens of other people and their concerns are passed over.

Another factor that is at play here is a phenomenon that is less specifically gendered, because it does happen to trans women too, and that's the phenomenon of cis groups making the newly-out trans person their token and educator, because typically it is the newly out person whom they have the most access to and power over.

The moment that a trans person transitions they immediately start getting singled out as an expert and resource on the trans experience, asked to lead workshops at their jobs and explain concepts to people and attend events and sit on panels. I think on some intuitive level cis people kinda *know* that the newly out are in a vulnerable, uncertain state and have fewer communities ties and less experience than more seasoned trans people do, and so they make the ideal "translator" of trans experiences to them as an audience.

In cis people's minds, you're not gonna push back, you're not going to complicate their narratives, you're not gonna be tired of answering offensive questions, and you will be freely available to them as a resource, because you've just come out. You'll put a friendly face on transition, one marked by newness and hope, rather than be jaded, complicated, or assertive at them. That's their expectation.

It makes no logical sense to make a newly out member of the community the arbiter of transness or the educator on the trans experience, but it DOES make sense that a powerful group would view such a disempowered and disconnected (relatively speaking) member of the trans community to be the most attractive to include.

Of course, this might not be true to who you actually are. But on a gut level, this is how the newly out trans person is typically seen: nonthreatening, moldable, convenient, so thankful to be included that they won't be angry. And you will be doubly rewarded for fulfilling that role if you are a man.

The only way to upend this narrative being forced onto you is for you to speak up, every single time you are invited to an event, and demand that just as many trans women be included in that event as trans men. Make sure to have a nice list of experienced, wise trans femme friends whom you can recommend as speakers and co-panelists in your pocket.

More often than not, you will be thanked by cis people and rewarded for having the brilliant idea of including women in a conversation about gender minority status. How the trans women in the equation get treated, well, you'll need to pay close attention to, and be ready to stand up and speak out the moment any passive aggressive exclusionary bio-essentialist fuckshit gets going. You can do it! And lots of times you ARE the person with the power to set things right. You're trans and you're being singled out, but you also are a man.

[kradogsrats]

Why, Exactly, Did Aaravos's Prison Fail?

Okay, so in order to understand the answer to that question, we first need to understand why it was expected to succeed. For that, we need to rewind a bit and examine the actual design and setup of the prison and its secrets.

When Aaravos was imprisoned, the Jailer split up necessary information about her design between "all" the archdragons, by which we mean it was split three ways, between Rex Igneous, Domina Profundis, and Avizandum/Zubeia:

Except... Avizandum wasn't actually given information about the prison, he was given a way to verify that Aaravos was still inside it:

So there are really only two clues about the prison: it's location (the center of the Sea of the Castout) and it's nature (a pearl).

That wouldn't exactly be a very complicated puzzle, except it takes into account the archdragons' natures and their dynamic with each other. The prison doesn't need to be opened in order to check whether Aaravos is still there, so the archdragons as a whole can't be tricked into opening the prison by making them doubt whether or not he's still safely confined. However, with the mirror as the only way Aaravos could conceivably communicate with the outside world, it's also the main weak point. If Avizandum or Zubeia were somehow compromised by his manipulations, they could conceivably get the other parts of the puzzle and open the prison—except for the fact that (even if they weren't all rivals for the same throne) Avizandum and Rex Igneous have beef, and Zubeia and Domina Profundis have (a much smaller amount) of beef. The trust isn't there for either of them to just hand their key over.

Additionally, it's set up so Rex Igneous physically has the information, but doesn't know it in a way that he can divulge it, and Domina Profundis knows the information, but doesn't have it in a way that can be taken from her. Rex Igneous is a beefy hothead susceptible to manipulation, but he can't tell you the prison's location. You have to kill/incapacitate him and find it. Domina Profundis appears to be more of a talker and is probably a good bit less powerful outside of her element, but killing or incapacitating her means she can't tell you the prison's nature. She has to be convinced.

Then, they erased Aaravos from history, meaning that once he's forgotten, no one can just stumble upon his story and decide to free him. The only way he's getting out is if he can convince and instruct someone through the mirror.

This was actually a pretty dang good plan. It just... didn't work.

Both teams wind up with two of the three clues: Team Stop Aaravos (Callum, Rayla, Ezran, etc.) has the mirror (with Aaravos helpfully confirming for them that he's actively on his way to escape) and the prison's nature. Team Free Aaravos (Claudia, Terry, Viren) has the mirror (and Aaravos's instructions) and the prison's location. Team Stop Aaravos gets the prison's location thanks to Akiyu's security breach, but Team Free Aaravos is able to go straight for the finish line.

Why does Sir Sparklepuff go straight from "lizard in a hat" to "blood of child," with no stop at "lizard with a party tooter"? Well, because there has been a second security breach, all along:

At the time Aaravos was imprisoned, no one knew he was connected to dark mages.

Yes, mages were his prey... but everything Zubeia describes is in terms of psychological manipulation. Despite having "strong minds and strong hearts":

Not "particularly dark mages," or even "particularly humans." Zubeia never even suggests that Aaravos wasn't working both sides of the Border at once (he was).

So this? Completely unanticipated:

Now, presumably that kind of direct, hostile-takeover possession is limited by, say... line-of-sight. (Unless there's an alternate connection, i.e. The Worm.) If Aaravos was able to possess any dark mage at any time, he would not have been in that prison for 300 years.

But there's also this:

and this:

and, of course, this:

Now, Aaravos can obviously also communicate with people within range who aren't dark mages, like Terry. However, because Aaravos himself doesn't know the nature of his prison, he still can't just tell them directly how to find it... except that with a dark mage, he can also sense and influence them. Claudia doesn't need to know the nature of the prison, she just has to get close enough to play Hot-and-Cold with Aaravos until he gets her hands on it.

The prison was, of course, designed by a human mage:

No one has ever said the Jailer was a dark mage, but come on. Presumably she also didn't know about Aaravos's connection to dark magic. Her designing the prison also didn't alert him to the betrayal, so she's unlikely to have been in league with or influenced by him at that point.

I do have to wonder if that's entirely accurate, though... because there's actually a a fourth piece of the puzzle, or at least an element considered as important as the others:

It's unclear exactly what role the staff is expected to play in Aaravos's return, beyond that it needs to be kept away from him and his followers. Presumably if it could be destroyed, it would have been... but given that it survived a direct hit of archdragon fire without even a scorch mark, it seems safe to say that there's no known way to get rid of it.

It's also unclear whether the staff was somehow at play in the events leading up to Aaravos's imprisonment, but where does it eventually turn up after his defeat and the Orphan Queen establishing a new royal line in Katolis? Somewhere that means it has been in the hands of Katolis's high mages for at least three generations, 300-odd years later.

After Viren is defeated at the Storm Spire, however, the staff doesn't go back to Katolis's new high mage—even though Callum is a primal mage, Ezran's brother, and a key participant in returning Zym and defending him and Zubeia. You'd think that, if there had ever been any intent to keep the staff in Katolis, he'd be considered pretty trustworthy. (Aside from being like... fourteen years old.) The Orphan Queen kept the Novablade, after all, and no one seems all that fussed about that. But instead, Zubeia secures the staff in her own hoard at the Storm Spire. This could be just a precaution, with the mirror's location unknown... but it could also be that the staff wasn't meant to stay in human hands.

(Though, I mean... you'd think it would be pretty easy to put together that whoever "killed" the dragon prince probably also took the mirror, and they already know enough about who killed Avizandum to target Harrow and Ezran. I really don't know why Zubeia wasn't like "hey, you don't happen to have recently acquired a weird mirror, have you?" at some point during those two years. Unless we're going to go the route that Ezran didn't realize Callum had the mirror, which would be... something.)

We've also seen that the staff may have an effect similar to, say, the One Ring—influencing whoever possesses it to keep and protect it, even kill and die for it. It does, after all, contain Aaravos's contingency plan (or one of them) for escaping a situation where his spirit is imprisoned in a way that prevents it from returning to the heavens for another alignment cycle. It makes sense that he'd find some way to keep it easily accessible if/when it's needed.

Whether this effect happens for all humans, only for dark mages, or under some other, even more specific criteria isn't totally clear. There are two instances where I think Viren is specifically influenced to take the staff—in Umber Tor, and when he decides to return to Katolis. However, he has to pick it up in Umber Tor because Claudia just kind of... left it? Possibly whatever is exerting the influence, whether it's Aaravos or something about the staff itself (or the quasar diamond), it's smart enough not to make Claudia and Viren go all Smeagol and Deagol on each other. Similarly, Claudia completely abandons the staff with Callum when she escapes after their fight—whether because the staff, without its quasar diamond and importance for freeing Aaravos from his prison, is no longer of particular use to Aaravos, or because he wants Callum to have it.

Anyway, with the Novablade going to Katolis with the Orphan Queen for safekeeping after Aaravos is imprisoned, it seems reasonable enough to assume that's also when the staff made its way there (if it wasn't there already, in the hands of the king or mages Aaravos was manipulating at the time). It also makes sense that if she trusted the Jailer, she would, y'know... let the mage handle the magic shit, like dealing with the staff. Meanwhile, if Aaravos was able to exert just the smallest amount of influence on the Jailer without being found out? Keep the staff would be a very good start to his eventual escape.

Keep it secret, keep it safe. All without realizing who you're keeping it safe for, rather than from. One day, he'll call.

[mr-payjay]

i am making my own ii human names list, but very slowly, because i am pedantic. also, i will not be counting mephone creating them as canon. ive had these ethnicity and family hcs for ages, and i will base my names on them. now, here are the two most important names.

OJ: Olivier-Jean "OJ" Jacques Silveira. my oj interpretation/gijinka is brazilian (paternal side) and ivorian (maternal side). his last name comes from his father and is brazilian portuguese. his first name and middle name were given by his mother, as many people in côte d'ivoire speak french (french colonization —> it's the official language now but there's MANY others accompanying it). a lot of people who speak french like to use "jean" in hyphenated names (trust me ive met a bajillion of them), so i included it. i think his name sounds quite classy.

oj was born and raised in america, speaking english at school and french at home. as well as some portuguese, but he never actually learned it. i think he would become quite pissy when kids at school would pronounce his name incorrectly (Olivier-Jean is... very not intuitive to english speakers. i believe they would say it like Oliver-Jeen) so they ended up using oj as shorthand. and he was fine with that, so it stuck. but at home he's Olivier and Olivier-Jean. he tells new people he meets to call him oj just because it's consistent and because he doesn't like the sound of his real name being mispronounced. coming from someone who constantly gets her real names mispronounced.

Paper: Paige Hsu (foreign name) and 许佩妍 / Xǔ Pèiyán (original name). my paper interpretation/gijinka is han taiwanese, so fully of han chinese descent. more specifically, hoklo (chosen because i hc he can speak mandarin AND hokkien). his family immigrated to taiwan from fujian (province in china with hoklo ancestry) post ww2. Xǔ is a particularly common surname in fujian, so i chose it for him. be gentle with me if i messed up with his given name LOL i know much less about chinese than french (but DO inform me if you know more about it and spot any mistakes!). Pèiyán means, in a way, beautiful garment. to wear something beautiful. to be adorned. etc. it's partially based on trying to make it seem a bit like the name "Paige", partially based on what i think his mother might name him (no real hopes or dreams for him so it's a little shallow), partially based on him as i know him (focused on presenting himself). it's also, as far as i know, a name mostly used for women. note that my interpretation of paper is usually a trans man.

now, Paige is unisex, it sounds like page, and it's a loved one of mine's favourite name for him, so i like it. i also think it makes sense for when he immigrated to canada with his mother as something they chose, and something he can still keep (being conveniently unisex). Hsu is one of the taiwanese romanizations for Xǔ. im not sure if he'd take on oj's last name. perhaps he'd hyphenate them. he's not particularly attached to his family, but Paige Hsu is quite a pretty name.

bonus: nickel is named Nikola Stević. this one was easy because my interpretation of nickel is kosovar serb. last names come from the father but the exact practice of it is a bit outdated so Stević is likely from his grandfather or great-grandfather (unless im misremembering how it works). i don't like the name Nicholas his name is Nikola. Nicholas sounds like a sweet little boy Nikola sounds like a menace. i see Nicholas everywhere start calling your nickel Nikola

[the-bjd-community-confess]

Hello, this is your Oldie Chinese Diaspora Anon™️. First of all, I’d like to say a fond thank you to everybody here at the blog. Thank you for sharing your opinions, your preferences and your take on everything doll-related. I still believe that we do best trying to learn from the people around us, no matter who they might be; while our visions may differ, our passion for these objets d’art do not waver.

I would also like to say thanks for the anons here who take time to read the long posts I’ve been writing. More importantly, I need to extend my appreciation to the anons who believe in me to bring them information from Asia. I can’t say I am a very gossip-prone person. But thanks to your trust in me, I get to discover new information that would’ve escaped my casual glances as well. Either way, thank you all for your ongoing confidence in me. I really appreciate it.

Perhaps most important of all, I need to extend a heart-felt thank you to the Mod. We can be an unruly crowd at times, with strongly-held beliefs couched in words that can be less-than-kind. Thank you for tolerating our vocal outburst and the occasional heated discussions. And thank you so very much for always being here for us to the best of your abilities. I know we say this from time to time, but I mean it: Mod, you are one of those folks that I am thankful for at this time; end of a year, end of an era, really. (Mod: thank you so much Anon!)

I am not American, but I do have relatives who are. One of our common threads of conversation lingers on the upcoming strife and uncertainty. While scholars speculate and politicians pontificate, at the end of the day the people who have to suffer the lean years and the fearful futures are still people like us, just the normal folks. The people who make the decisions will never be the ones who will be affected. It is up to us, the common, everyday people, the 99% if you will, to find a way to band together and help each other out. We have a lot more in common than we realise, I think; but it’s easy to let our nationalities, our identities, our laws and our opinions get in the way of us realising that. Our divisions help the 1% to extract everything from us, even down to the little things that give us joy. But if we reach out to each other simply as one human being to another, I am sure we will find that we share more things in common than we are led to think.

On that note, I am fully aware that the upcoming couple of years will keep us on our toes and keep us awake at night. We’ll have to come face to face with our FOMO and our relationship with our wishes and desires. That’s me included, too (in the spirit of full disclosure, I do live in a country that is being threatened by the US’s foreign policies – it’s a long list; there are a lot of us…). As long as we remember to treat each other like someone who are in our own shoes, we’ll always find a place here. Here, we’re just one doll collector to another, with sympathetic ears and open arms. That’s my New year’s resolution, anyway. Anyone feeling like joining me?

~Anonymous

[deanwinchesterswitch]

A New Year

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean’s girl knows him well. It only takes a few choice words to convince him to join her for a fancy New Year’s Eve celebration. However, neither needs to be seduced into admitting that the after-party is the best part.

Word Count: Part One~1,458; Part Two~1,458

Warnings/Info: Fluff; Teensy bit of angst if you blink; Sexy foreplay; Implied smut; Established relationship

Author Notes: This started as an aesthetic ask from @justagirlinafandomworld—Dean Winchester and Fancy Party. Then, it became a random idea that ran away with itself by turning into two aesthetics. A little drabble idea appeared for one and then a ficlet for the other. Now, it is a two-part short story. Yvette, this probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you made the request, but I hope you like it. Sorry that it took so long.

Credits: A shout-out to @princessmisery666 for the review and support. Any mistakes are mine.

Photo Sources: (x, x, x, x, x)

Dean is not happy with the surprise that you bought a New Year’s Eve package at a fancy hotel in Kansas City. He is even less thrilled when you inform him it is a themed party and he will need special attire.

Brow adorably scrunched with his arms crossed over his chest, he glowers at you. “Why the hell would you think I’d want to drive four hours, then dress up in some clown suit to spend the evening with a bunch of bozos I don’t even know?” Taking a step closer, he gently grips the back of your arms and pouts. “I thought we were going to have a private celebration? We have the whole bunker to ourselves.” Waggling his eyebrows, he gives you a cheeky grin. “Naked tag. Doesn’t that sound like more fun?”

Patting his chest, you sweetly smile. “Did I mention that it’s a 1940s theme, and I have a sexy little number picked out already?”  Voice laced with a hint of a whine, you slide your hand down his chest and away just as it reaches his belt. “I thought since you were so giddy when you told me about how much fun you had with Ness that you might enjoy this, but …” pouting oh so prettily, you shrug, “I guess I’ll see if I can get a refund.”

Still holding your right arm, he doesn’t let you get far as you turn away. “Alright, alright. Just,” he tries to hide his excitement, but his eyes are practically sparkling, “hold on a minute. One, I wasn’t giddy …” 

You arch a brow with an incredulous look, and he huffs, “Shut up.” 

Curious to hear how he backtracks his rejection, you bite your lip to hold back your laugh.

“And B, you really want to go to this, huh? You already have a dress?” He makes a show of mulling over his decision while you feign hopeful innocence. “I suppose …since you already spent the money …”

“Really?!” Instead of calling him out, you pretend to be surprised at his apparent change of heart and push up to peck his cheek, wrapping your arms around his neck as you settle back on your heels. “You’re the best, Dean.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” He chuckles, returning the kiss, knowing you had him pegged from the start.

“Okay, come on! There’s something else I want to show you.” 

“Is it that sexy little number you mentioned?” 

Rolling your eyes at his cheesy grin and arched brows, you grab his hand and pull him along behind you toward the garage. “No. You don’t get to see that until the party.” Dean mutters his disapproval but follows with little resistance. 

You smile at him over your shoulder as you reach the staircase to the garage. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then close your eyes.” Although he could probably find his way blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back, you take his other hand as his lids fall closed and guide him up the stairs. After positioning him for the perfect view, you stand to the side. “Alright, you can look.”

Dean blinks, eyes widening when they register the sleek black vehicle before him. “What’s this?”

“This,” you enthusiastically say, stepping over to the car and adopting your best auto show model pose, “is a 1940 Chevrolet Coupe Street Rod.” 

With a hint of exasperation, Dean states, “I know that. What’s-”

“Patience,” you cut him off, pointing an admonishing finger at him. Dean huffs, but a hint of a smile forms on those pouty lips as you continue. With a flourish of your hand, you wave it over the hood and intone, “Beneath the lovely Black Rose exterior is a 355 cubic inch V8 engine, a formidable powerhouse that can reach speeds of 125 mph,” adding with a wink, “You’re going to love the growl.”

Dean bites into his bottom lip, eyes crinkling at the corners as you glide back to the driver’s side door.

“This particular vehicle has been updated with several modern conveniences—power steering, power disc brakes, power trunk and seat, a tilt wheel, cruise control, electric wipers …and a killer stereo system.” Opening the door, you seductively ask, “Would you like to try it out …Sir?” 

His eyebrows pop, lip slipping from beneath a sharp canine, thick tongue slicking over the plump pink flesh to soothe it. The action kicks up your pulse, and you step aside with a heavy sigh as he approaches the vehicle.

“Hello, beautiful,” he husks, reverently running his fingers over the chrome louvers. Stepping around the door, he takes a quick peek inside, whistling low before straightening to circle the car, whispering sweet words as he goes.

“You're going to make Baby jealous,” you tease when he comes to stand beside you.

“Nah. She knows that no one can take her place.” He turns to look lovingly at the Impala before looking back at the coupe, “But this is a sweet-looking ride.

The way he says it makes you wonder where you now fall on his list. As if sensing your thoughts, he puts an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to whisper, “Just don’t tell her you’re my number one.”

“Mum’s the word,” you say, making a gesture of locking your lips.

Laughing, he kisses the top of your head. “So, you gonna tell me where this came from? My birthday isn’t for a few weeks yet.”

“Haha. No. I love you, but this is a bit out of my price range. I rented it for the week. I thought showing up at the party in style might be fun.

“Hey! Baby’s stylish.”

Elbowing him in the side, you huff, “In era-appropriate style.”

“You were that sure I’d say yes?”

“If you hadn’t, we still could’ve had fun tooling around town.” Shrugging, you pull the keys from your pocket and dangle them in front of him. “I need to pick up my dress, and you need to get suited up. So, you wanna test it out?”

Snatching the keys from your hand, he exclaims, “Abso-fucking-lutely!” 

You wouldn’t have believed it possible, but Dean’s whole demeanor seems even brighter as his gaze travels the expanse of clothing racks upon entering the vintage resale store. After telling him not to worry about the cost and to get whatever he wants, he turns into the proverbial kid in a candy store.

Knowing why he takes such unadulterated pleasure from simple things, you ignore the twinge in your chest and the tear threatening to tip over your lashes, rushing after him to share his joy. After about thirty minutes, though, you grow tired of trailing after him like a puppy and decide to go sit by the dressing rooms. You’ve actually begun to doze when you hear a gruff “Hey.”

Blinking a couple of times, your eyes finally focus on the dreamboat before you. The suit fits him like it was tailored to him—crisp white shirt, tie perfectly knotted, vest hugging a trim torso, jacket draped perfectly on broad shoulders, and trousers exquisitely encasing muscled thighs to flawlessly land at the perfect length above his shoes. You’re like a fish out of water, mouth gaping, struggling to find words. Your only coherent thought is, how the hell did he get his hair smoothed over like that?

“It’s exactly like the one I wore as an Untouchable,” he animatedly declares as he makes his way over to the three-paneled dressing mirror. You don’t have the heart or presence of mind to correct him. “You okay over there?” His reflection's smug grin and piercing eyes have you clamping your mouth and thighs closed, sitting up straighter on the cushioned bench.

“F-fine,” you manage to squeak out.

“Sure you are.” Dean laughs, kissing the top of your head as he passes by. “All I need now is the overcoat and hat. Oh, and cuff-”

His voice fades as he crosses the store to the outerwear section, and you take a moment—or three—to compose yourself before following him.

It took a little finagling to keep the outfits as wrinkle-free as possible, but the garment bags and hatbox are settled neatly in the back of the coupe. As you reach to open the passenger door, Dean spins you into his arms, a bit of apprehension marring his expression. “Why’d you do all this?”

The question isn’t as simple as it seems, nor is the answer, but those details don’t need to be aired right now. Cradling his face in your hands, you give him your sweetest smile. “Because we deserve it. A new year. A fresh start. So let’s have some fun.”

The boyish grin makes you laugh. The heat in his kiss makes you melt.

After-Party

Photo Sources: (x, x)

The celebration was amazing! The decorations were extravagant, the food delicious and plentiful, and the alcohol flowed freely. The partygoers were raucous but fun. Though the band only played 40s-era music, Dean grudgingly admitted they were talented and helped create a decade-appropriate ambiance.

Seeing Dean truly relax and enjoy himself in the crowd-filled room brought tears to your eyes more than once during the evening. Without the burden of another impending world-ending event—the only threats being getting a drink spilled on you or someone stepping on your toes on the crowded dance floor—the two of you had been able to focus on the festivities and each other. You’d even managed to get him to dance with you a few times. The fireworks display was spectacular. Maybe not as spectacular as Dean’s midnight kiss, but still fabulous. 

When you kick off your shoes in the elevator and refuse to put them back on, Dean gives you a piggyback ride to the Deluxe VIP Suite included in your package. Tears of laughter at the way he literally gallops down the hallway with the skirt of your dress billowing behind you make it a struggle to unlock the door, and he nearly drops you on your ass when he tries to help. 

Once inside the room, Dean refuses to let you down, taking a tour of the large space, including the view from the balcony, before finally dropping you on top of the suite’s ornate bed. Still giggling, you watch as he double-checks the door locks and scans for potential threats—old habits still adjusting to the new minimal monster world order. Draping yourself across the crisp white bedding, you not-so-patiently wait for him to join you.

You promptly feel the shift in his mood as he removes his jacket, placing it neatly over the back of the chair near the bed. Looking up as he removes his cufflinks, he instructs, “Take it off. Show me what’s underneath.”

Crawling to the end of the bed, your pulse kicks as you stand. He’s had you on edge all evening, hands roaming flesh left bare of fabric, lingering looks, and whispered words of devotion and lust. He was so attentive that only one of the many individuals you noticed admiring him throughout the evening dared to approach him. When she had the audacity to plop down onto his lap, he immediately stood, unceremoniously dropped her onto the chair, then reached for you and walked away without a backward glance, but not before you got a few choice words in.

“You’ve been teasing me all night. That barely there dress, those red-stained lips putting that obnoxious blonde in her place. I have to say, it's hot when you get all jealous like that. I wanted to drag you into the coat room and take you right there.”

“Me?! Teasing you?! You’re the one that’s been doing all the teasing! Those hands …with the touching, the dirty talk with that voice …that …,” you flail a hand in his direction, “that getup! I’ve been wet since you put those cufflinks on. And I wasn’t jealous,” you spout, “she was just out of line.”

Dropping the aforementioned accessories on the nightstand, Dean hums his disbelief as he rolls up his shirt sleeves, and you shift, rubbing your thighs together, remaining indignation transforming into arousal. Dean chuckles, knowing full well what he’s doing to you.

“Show me,” he calmly orders, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes …Sir,” you consent, earning a twitch of his upper lip. Truthfully, you would have removed every article of clothing as soon as the door closed behind you, but earlier you had agreed to follow his command when the two of you returned to the room.

The dress is a replica of one worn by Rita Hayworth, but your lingerie isn’t entirely historically accurate. You hope he enjoys it nonetheless. Unhooking the collar, you slip your arms from the jeweled straps and let the bodice fall to bare your chest, reaching behind you to unzip the skirt. Chiffon and lace slither down your body to form a halo at your feet, and you slowly twirl in place to give him the full view. When you meet his gaze again, the slight curl of Dean’s lips and the glint in his eyes let you know he approves of your choice. 

“Back on the bed.” The demand is gruff, his tone smooth, warm, and dark with a little bite—like the finely aged bourbon at the party. It settles on your flesh and seeps into your pores, warming you from the inside.

Settling into the middle of the mattress, you turn to find him unbuttoning his vest. The vintage suit—frustratingly for you—holds as many layers as his hunting attire. However, Dean makes a show of undressing, his heated stare never once leaving yours, and the final display is well worth the price of time.

When his boxers hit the floor, he steps from the layers of fabric at his feet and reaches for your ankle, pulling you to him. For a brief, glorious moment, his hard length is mere inches from your face. Calloused fingers grip your chin as you lean forward, tilting your head back and holding you in place.

“Not yet.” He chuckles when you whimper. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

Dean places a gentle kiss on your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before straightening to ghost his fingers across your collarbone and down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Lightly cupping the side of your breast, his thumb caresses your nipple until it’s taut and your chest is heaving. “Deeean …,” you whine when he drops his hand.

With a hum, he drops to his knees between your legs, hands resting on the downy comforter on either side of your hips, no part of him touching you. “Patience,” he drawls. “Keep your hands on the bed.”

The intensity of his stare makes you gasp. Leaning back, you fist the bedding, spreading your legs wider. His touch is feather-light, teasing as he traces the top edge of a stocking. Heat suffuses your veins, and nerve endings spark, making your skin prickle with desire.

“You’re stunning.” Releasing the clasp on the first strap, he drags his bottom lip through his teeth, watching as your breath hitches. “Thank you.” He grins, popping another clasp.

“F-for what?” The words are barely audible. Dean’s agonizingly slow movements and playful smirk have your fingers bunching the thick cotton in a death grip and your heart beating like the band’s bass drum.

“For planning all this, knowing what I need before I do,” another clasp is freed, “for the car and wearing that dress,” your stockings are liberated from the final clasp but he pauses, looking at you with—well, there’s no other way to describe it—a sinful smolder, his voice intoxicatingly resonant, “for always being such a good girl for me.”

Your head falls back with a moan, your hips canting forward as your walls throb with need. A finger grazes the top of your thigh, slipping beneath the edge of lace and silk to stroke between your lips and circle your clit. Disintegrating onto the mattress, you keen, “Pleeeeeease …,” begging for more …for anything …for everything—the warmth and weight of his body caging you, hands gripping and manipulating you to his whim, teeth biting, lips sucking bruises into your flesh, his cock filling and splitting you open.

“Almost.” 

The tightness in his tone has you smiling as you close your eyes. He’s on edge, too. It won’t be long before he gives you what you want. Tilting your hips as he drags your panties down, you release your fists, flexing your fingers to ease the joints, body jolting with a deep inhale when his breath fans your inner thighs as he removes a stocking. His touch is tender and tickles when he lifts your foot to release it from the silk. 

Dean repeats the action with your other leg, but this time, he kisses the inside of each knee before he grasps your ankles and pulls them up to rest on his shoulder as he stands. You know he won’t let any harm come to you, yet you frantically grip the comforter with a shriek as your ass reaches the edge of the mattress. When he releases his hold, you spread your legs, wrapping them around him as he leans into you. “Touch me.”

Sighing, you grip the nape of his neck in one hand, nails of the other gently scraping down his spine as he nibbles along your jawbone. Then he whispers …

“Now the real fun begins …the after-party.”

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

No, like what are we even talking about, I barely accept Emily having parents as canon, this is simply false idc what the evo writers say ✋🙄 She is the most only child coded character I have ever seen in my entire life.

Wait now I’ve read two interviews saying the sister line wasn’t just a lie to get information? Emily Prentiss, the most only child of all only children, actually has a sister? Alright, where the cameras at, I know I’m being pranked right now

[dynamitekansai]

THE USOS REUNITE WWE SMACKDOWN (OCTOBER 25, 2024)

[doctahchang]

this is exactly how equinox ended

[yanchive]

Man, I've been obsessed with the isekai trope lately. I've been imagining a scenario where the reader gets isekai'd into a yandere romance story as a side character. You're not the main character or a love interest. You replaced a nameless character who was solely created in the story to be killed off by the yandere love interests to further the plot.

After realizing that's the role you took on, you devise a plan to re write the story to keep yourself alive.

In the official plot, your death was the cause of getting too close to the main character. Your positive relationship with them was considered a threat to the yanderes, and so they wiped you out of the picture.

So, as any semi intelligent individual would do, you decided to avoid the main character completely.

I'd like to imagine the reader wasn't well informed of this story, didn't know who the yans were, and accidentally befriended them before they even got a chance to develop any feelings for the main character. You jumped into their lives before the events that led into the original storyline. Earning their trust and unfortunately causing some peculiar emotions in them to develop.

This fucks up the whole plot. I mean, that was your plan. You just weren't trying to fuck it up so bad that you unintentionally attracted multiple yans who decided you were the perfect match for them. You were a joy to be around. You were far more intertwined in their lives than the previous main character ever was. It was generic with them and their story. A boring, "yan see's their darling from afar for the first time and falls in love on sight." Type plot.

But with you, it was so much more personal. They grew to love you for way more than just your looks. They got to know you as a person before any sort of feelings of devotion could form.

This made their efforts to claim you so much worse than they ever were in the original plot. They were much more sinister and brutal. They usually only did massive amounts of stalking, blackmail, and the occasional murder when it came to the canon story, whereas they went all out for you.

Kidnap, murder, torture, blackmail, stalking, theft, harassment, etc. Everyone around you was a threat in their eyes. Everyone around you didn't deserve you.

By the time you realized what you've done, what you've created, its far too late to fix your mistake. You attempted to break off the friendships, avoiding them at all costs, closing yourself off and spending your time trying to find a way back to your original world.

But they don't take kindly to that. Not after everything you guys have been through. Before you could find the key back home to your world, you'd be whisked away, having your new world be the confines of your yans humble abode, away from society.

Bonus option: You attempt to bring the original main character back into the plot in hopes they could redirect the yandere back into chasing them and get them off your back. But why would they need this stranger? They don't know them like they know you. And they could care less to even try to get to know them. So, the original main character ends up taking on the role you were supposed to be. The side character who was meant to die to further the plot.

You're the main character now.

[drdemonprince]

Welcome to male privilege baby, to put a spin on a far more undermining phrase that typically gets hurled at trans femmes. You will be considered a trustworthy authority on trans issues, a valuable contributor to panels and workshops, a needed (but also highly convenient to access) form of "diversity" for a workplace, and a welcome attendee at all manner of events from here on out, and you'll be deferred to over women, especially trans women, for pretty much the entire rest of your life.

Guys like us are invited, centered, included, listened to, treated with respect, treated with WARMTH, viewed as intelligent, perceptive, sensitive, safe, trustworthy, reliable, and desirable to include. In the eyes of the cis public, we are a "safe" kind of trans person who does not make people uncomfortable to look at, and who doesn't challenge their pre-existing understanding of gender hierarchy; when they listen to us, they get to trust in the certainty of a MAN giving them information, but they can also feel comfortable and safe around us as a kind of enlightened, sensitive nonthreatening figure, a former member of the disempowered gender group who aspired to move into the powerful one, and is now dutifully fulfilling the powerful gender group’s role of leader, mentor, and recipient of attention.

Trans men are men who can explain sexism back to women. We’re men who still hold some quiet connection to gender marginalization status that makes us seem less physically imposing and scary than other marginalized men seem. In this way, trans men being positioned as a mid-level authority figure and everyone’s buddy reinforces the existing gender hierarchy, which feels soothing and right to people's brains.

You will have to be conscious of this power differential for the rest of your life, around cis and trans women alike, because it plays out in a pretty traditionally sexist fashion: people (especially women) will go quiet when you start speaking, you will be given credit for ideas that were a collective effort, your emotions will be more likely to be taken seriously and seen as a sign of principle rather than weakness, and you will be regarded as special and memorable while dozens of equally skillful and wise people and their concerns are passed over.

...

Among the cis public, there a hunger for transition to be made approachable and legible, and it’s often the trans person with the closest proximity to former cisness whom they consider the best qualified to do it. I think on some intuitive level cis people kinda know that the newly-out are in a vulnerable, uncertain state and have fewer communities ties and less experience than more seasoned trans people do, and so they make the ideal "translator" of trans experiences to them as an audience, because they’re desperate for approval and easier to exploit.

In cis people's estimations, you as a newly-out trans guy are not gonna push back against them, complicate their narratives, or be tired of answering offensive questions, and you will be freely available to them as a resource. You won’t demand that an organization make dramatic changes, you’ll just give people a few terms to memorize and then play gender show-and-tell! You'll put a friendly face on transition, one marked by newness and hope, rather than the jaded, complicated, or assertive one offered by a trans person who has spent years in the trenches. That's their expectation.

It makes no logical sense to make a newly out member of the community the arbiter of transness, but it does make sense that a powerful group would view such a disempowered and disconnected (relatively speaking) member of the trans community to be the most attractive to include.

I wrote about male privilege and their weird phenomenon of cis people always wanting newly transitioned folks to lead the Trans 101 workshops and men to chair all the trans inclusion panels. You can read the full piece or have it narrated to you by the Substack app for FREE at this link.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Thinking about neurodivergent!secretary!reader who absolutely despises when there's new, young soldiers at the base.

Your base instinct is to run whenever there's a teenager in front of you – it doesn't matter if you're almost 30 years old. The scars of the bullying you suffered when you were young are still tender, and you hate when their scrutinizing gazes lock onto you, tongues sharp and ready to pick and pull at every loose thread of insecurity you have; hammering you down until stop sticking out like a bent nail.

Your boys see that. And they hate it.

They just love their little doll, their favorite (only) secretary. It's the highlight of their days to see you all pretty with your dresses and your soft but purposeful steps, calling out to them with a quiet voice. You're like a little bunny – small, scared, and cute. Their nerves flare up with the desperate need to just keep you safe in their hands, always within their reach.

And when they find out that some good-for-nothing recruits are intimidating you and talking shit about you behind your back, trying to bully you for the way you chose to live your life?

Price doesn't think twice about ruining their military careers. Who cares about some stupid runts? All that matters is your pretty smile, love. Maybe bullying doesn't call for a dishonorable discharge, but hey. A little abuse of power is absolutely nothing if it means keeping you happy.

Ghost will be more than happy to beat up all of the scum that had the gall to whisper nasty comments about you whenever he's training them. You're his little piece of heaven. The only bird that has ever looked at him with loving eyes, and not fear. He wouldn't stand for anyone who badmouths the one soft thing he has going on in his life. And if he punches their jaws until they dislocate so they can't talk about you? That's on them for not blocking. And if he breaks their finger so they can't type anything? Oh, lovie. That's on them for not dodging.

Soap is a lot less subtle. He'll just knock down whoever's near him if they so much as whisper something about you. No one talks about his bonnie. Not when you're the sweetest little thing that's ever been around him. Soap sometimes daydreams of getting a nasty toothache just by biting you, so sweet you are. And no one can ever hurt you beside him and his mates, when they eventually show you the sugar pain of their affections. Interestingly, Sergeant MacTavish just never seems to face disciplinary action despite how openly aggressive he is to those new runts...

Gaz is the one with the information. He's all tight lipped smiles and fake laughs when he's talking with a new recruit and they dare to poke fun at you. Sometimes they even know you're 141's secretary and openly expect Kyle to agree with them. As if he could ever think anything but the absolute best about you, his precious doll... He wouldn't let this slander go on for much longer, though. Just a few words with Price or Ghost and the recruit would be swallowing their words with blood and bile. You can always trust him to be your knight in shining armor, love, just like you're his princess. No harm will ever come your way, if it's up to him.

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

En såndär bockjävel eller vad fan det heter

↳ sytråd och virknål 0,6 mm + bonus: biblically accurate julbock

Note: I moved this under a read more since donations can no longer be made here. Feel free to make some to a charity of your choice though!

Did you know it used to be the Christmas goat that brought you your presents in Sweden?

To keep the spirit alive, you can officially make a donation in the name of this little crochet goat to support everyone's right to survive their pregnancy! Just go to this link and follow these steps:

Please note that this collection only remains active until 15 Dec 2024! More information about the organisers can be found at the bottom of this post.

On the right hand side/top of the linked page, you can see the current sum of donations. Below that are some options we need to fill out to make a donation of our own.

First we need to disclose whether the donation is being made by a private individual (Privatperson) or a business (Företag). I'm assuming you're a private individual, so leave the first option selected (on the left).

Next we choose the method of payment. "Swish" is a Swedish payment service that won't work for foreigners, and if you're Swedish I'm assuming you already know how it works. Foreigners, please choose the second option to pay by card (Kort).

Now for the fun bit! How much do you want to donate? The standard options are presented in Swedish krona (kr). I have put the rough exchange rates to US dollars for each option below:

50 kr ≈ $4.56 | 100 kr ≈ $9.13 | 300 kr ≈ $27.38

You can convert from your currency to Swedish krona using this tool. Just choose your own currency in the first drop-down menu ("from").

In the final field you have the option to instead enter your own amount, if you want to give less or more or in between any of the previous options. Note that the amount you enter is in Swedish krona, so look up the exchange rates so that you know how much you are giving if you choose this option!!

The final two check boxes are options that relate to the public display of your donation (see the bottom of the page). If you don't check either option, your donation amount will be visible but your name will not be.

Check the first box if you want your name to show up in the public list of donations, leave it unchecked to remain anonymous. Check the second box if you want to hide the amount you've donated, leave it unchecked to show the world your donation amount.

Finally, hit the red button to be taken to the payment page. Fulfil the payment, and be sure to double check the amount you're donating. Note that we use commas instead of dots to separate decimals in Swedish, so 50,00 kr means simply 50 kr.

And that's it! Thank you so much for your donation!! 🥳🐐

Please reblog this post so that more people will hopefully donate, or at least get to enjoy a tiny Gävlebock!

What is this charity thing?

Musikhjälpen is an annual charity event organised by the Swedish public broadcasters. Every year in December, 3 hosts are locked in a glass cage for a week and they broadcast in shifts, nonstop for 144 hours (6 days, 24 hours per day) to create an occasion for charity donations. They are visited by various music artist, celebrities, and talk to people who have special knowledge about the donation theme of the year or who organise initiatives for donations. You can watch clips of previous performances on their youtube channel here.

The event's official donations website also allows the public to set up their own "initiatives", to which donations can be made. This is what I have done! The money goes directly to the event organisers (the public broadcasters' aid agency, Radiohjälpen), who then pool all the money that is collected during the week. After the week is done they will begin portioning it out to trusted charities that are relevant to this year's theme. This year's theme is Alla har rätt att överleva sin graviditet, or in English: Everyone Has a Right to Survive Their Pregnancy.

Learn more about musikhjälpen on English Wikipedia or on Sveriges radio's website (in Swedish).

Or

If you prefer, the goat will be just as happy if you make a donation to a charity of your choice. You'll have to find links to other causes on your own though! 😊

I should probably also mention that I am in no way officially affiliated with Gävlebocken, I just crocheted a little guy and thought it would be nice to spread some constructive spirit among all the calls for arson. 😇

[narcjsistx]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐄𝐖... | sae, kaiser, rin

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: you get mentioned in one of their interviews, and he's sooo in love with you <3

— sae itoshi

That Sae didn't like interviews was a well known thing, even the journalists were a little worried when they discovered they had to interview him: although he was a prodigy, a talent never seen in years and years of soccer, he was objectively a thorn in the side, acidic and lethal in words as he was with his shots in the penalty area. All the journalists who had dealt with the Japanese prodigy could say, with absolute certainty, that a slap or being fired was less annoying

And today was no exception. ReAl had just won a very important Spanish cup, but one that Sae didn't actually know much about. They simply told him to be himself, and so he did: the result was a landslide victory against the Venezuelan team, 7-1. The match had been over for less than half an hour and he had already been surrounded by journalists, whom he had pushed away with little courtesy as he headed towards the locker room. But one journalist had insisted more than the others, and with a sigh, the boy had dedicated 5 minutes of his time to him

"Exciting victory today, isn't it? Spain had been aiming for this cup for years but they only won it when you had a place in the team" says the journalist, microphone pointed towards Sae. A man, a little further away, held a video camera on his shoulder, pointed towards them. Sae nods, turning away when he swears he hears someone call out to him in a familiar voice. The reporter continues talking, but Sae pays no attention: that voice sounded so familiar

"So that's a yes?" the reporter says, the microphone still pointed towards him. Sae doesn't even know what question he asked him, but the mere fact that he's still here trying to get information out of him bothers him. "What?" he asks raising an eyebrow, and before the reporter even says it, Sae knows it's about you

“Your girlfriend isn't here today, which is strange considering she's always present at your games, even when they're out of town” the reporter says, probably repeating the words he asked him earlier. Sae isn't even surprised by the question, he already knows what he wants to ask him and mentally thanks himself for not answering with 'yes' at the previous question "Is this a sign that you've broken up? There have been rumors for a while that the feeling between you two is over-"

"No. We have not broken up and at the moment, and even in the future, the option is not in mind for either of us" says the boy without thinking for two seconds, taking the edge of the microphone with one hand, so that his words they arrive very straight. The journalist is surprised

Today, for the first time since you've been together, you couldn't come to his game. You actually haven't seen each other in a while, at least a month, and all the speculation that you had broken up had reached Sae's ears. Everything seemed to fit, the perfect breakup after years of a perfect relationship and a wedding ring on the line that Sae had offered you months ago. Everything seemed to coincide with the end of one of the most talked about relationships of the moment

But the reality is that simply, for university reasons, you had to move to Italy for a few months. Sae often came to you, but couldn't stay for whole days due to training... and so, for just over a month, you hadn't seen each other. If the truth wasn't known, you would actually look like a couple who hated each other by now

“Would you tell us more about all the evidence that has been circulating for over a month?” asks the journalist, and the boy already knows in his mind that the interview will not end well if this damned journalist continues to be so interested in something that does not concern him

Sae sighs. He knows that, from your temporary home in Italy, you are watching him. He knows well that every word he is saying you are listening to him. And it's time to make things clear once and for all,or he thinks he's going crazy

"Y/n and I haven't broken up, it's not on our minds and wedding preparations are currently underway. I hate when people seem so interested in something that actually has nothing to do with them, but I understand that it's your job and that's why I'm holding back from going harder on it" says Sae in one breath "My future wife and I don't have anything remotely negative in mind for our relationship, so if you would do me the favor of mentioning her only when there really is a reason, I would be happy" says Sae, and the journalist is suddenly understanding why all his colleagues had told him to stay away from the Japanese prodigy "So, if you really have questions for me about my performance today, I'll try to answer. Otherwise, bye" he says, handing the microphone back to the man, who takes it completely speechless

The camera shows him leaving, hiding the journalist who is still speechless. The camera zoom focuses on the background of Sae's phone, which appears for a few seconds when the boy takes the phone while heading towards the locker room. A photo of you and him cheek to cheek stands out, a small smile breaking across the boy's face as you laugh. With only this proof alone, literally everybody could definitively say that you didn't break up

— micheal kaiser

Micheal was now used to interviews. Since he had actually become someone, someone relegated to Germany's biggest soccer club, interviews had become an everyday thing, like brushing his teeth or kicking the ball as hard as he could during training. He was good looking, he had charisma, he was definitely one of the most pleasant to interview on his team. If the interviewer was a woman he would crack a few jokes, something to make things more interesting. It was objectively flirting with them, but since you had officially become his girlfriend, he had put a stop to these things, out of respect for you

The room was well furnished, he was sitting on a sofa placed in front of the large windows, which gave a view of the great metropolis of Hamburg. You were with him, sitting behind the cameras on a chair placed there at random. He had insisted to the producers that you appear next to him during the interview, but it wasn't possible. His nose was still a little crooked knowing that they got you that beat up chair by sheer luck. You were his empress, the respect they had for him they had to give to you too, and it hadn't happened

He knew that you didn't really care that much, but your respect was something that, at least in front of him, they couldn't miss. But making a fuss just for this didn't seem right at the moment, at most he would have done it after finishing the interview

A woman enters the room, probably only a few years older than him, in her thirties. She looked familiar, and he wasn't sure why he had a bad feeling. The woman approaches, sitting on one of the armchairs next to him. They could have changed your chair for that armchair, why hadn't they done it?

"It's a real pleasure for me to interview you again. It's been a long time since the first time!" the woman says smiling, and from there Micheal finally understands why he felt like he knew her: a few years ago, before he even met you, he did an interview with this woman. The video had gone viral not for the questions, but for the way it was obvious the two of them were flirting with each other. Not that Micheal was really interested, it was just a habit before he met you

Before he can even say anything, a producer announces the start of the interview. The woman smiles at the camera, giving a brief introduction before moving on to a few questions: they are all things related to soccer, Bastard Munchen and the next match against Italy, which will take place in a few weeks. Micheal relaxes his nerves a little to see that nothing has to do with his private life, and turns around to see you from time to time. You smile softly at him, nodding as a sign that he's going well, really everything is going well

But Kaiser relaxed too soon, unfortunately. "Sooo, the internet world has been wondering this for a while... and now seems like the right opportunity to ask it! We're done with soccer questions anyway, right?" the woman says, chuckling, placing a stack of notes on a nearby table, picking up another. Kaiser tilts his head, and for a moment, he thinks these are the usual questions related to his relationship. Nothing new

"Our first interview was four years ago, when you weren't even dating yet. The internet world wondered for a long time if we were together!" the woman says, with a look that Kaiser recognizes: hoe. He turns to you and for a moment he reads some confusion on your face "The interview went so viral that everyone really thought it was a way to reveal our relationship to the world. But it didn't go that way, unfortunately" says the woman

If he wasn't live nationally and if the interviewer wasn't a woman, he would have already crushed her face with his fist. With what logic does she talk about something like that in front of you, his girlfriend? Where's the fucking respect they're supposed to give you but are lacking in every possible way? Everything is going wrong

“It sure would have been a fun thing to do and-” the woman says speaking casually, but the guy interrupts her “Schatz, could you come over here for a sec?” Kaiser says, shifting his attention solely to you, who finds yourself perplexed for a moment. He's breaking every rule possible, but he doesn't care. If he wants you next to him on national live broadcast, the producers will make you stand next to him on national live broadcast

You get up from the chair a little scared, walking among the producers who mentally and not curse Kaiser. You pass the woman who, with an annoyed look, stares at you. With slightly shaky legs you sit next to Micheal, who immediately grabs you putting his arm around your shoulders, pushing your hip against his. You try to smile as best you can in front of the camera, which records everything. Kaiser squeezes your shoulder slightly, and then turns his face back towards the camera "I don't rule out that that interview made me go viral everywhere for months and months, increasing my fame" says the boy "But my behavior was a bit wrong at the time, I was definitely giving attention to people who shouldn't have been..." says Micheal, and while you try to hold back a laugh, the interviewer opens her paralyzed mouth

Kaiser chuckles at the situation, then continues "The attention that I used to give to random people is now received by her, who deserves it all. The mere fact that she accompanies me everywhere is a valid reason to love her, right?" the boy says, squeezing your shoulder again, and you smile in love "She is simply better. It's not even a competition, because she would win before even starting. Maybe if my girlfriend had been the interviewer that time I would say differently now! Maybe I would have already married her, who knows" Kaiser says, and you tilt your head against his shoulder, leaning on him like you always do. You're so damn in love with him

If the producers and interviewer failed to give you respect behind the scenes and also with annoyance, Kaiser will make sure to prove your worth in front of the whole Germany

— itoshi rin

If there was one thing that distinguished Rin from his teammates, it was the ability to turn each of his interviews into a future edit that would become popular on all social media. He was famous, damn famous, every scene of his was edited by millions of people every day. His interviews, for his fans, were the best opportunity to make scenes about him

And since you had been dating, for a few years now, you had suffered more or less the same treatment as Rin. You often appeared in his interviews, you were loved by his fan base, and the edits about you that went as viral as those of your beloved boyfriend

"...the Australian defense this time had to face a much better prepared Japan than last match" says the interviewer, the microphone held out towards Rin. A match has just ended, obviously won by Japan: Rin is still sweaty, his legs slightly weak from running for practically the entire duration of the match. But he's not sick, he's simply tired and he just wants to kiss you

Of course you came to his game, taking a seat in the VIP section of the players' families. It's a habit that, as soon as the match is over, he comes to the VIP section to kiss you, but this time he couldn't: the journalists completely captured him, making it impossible to even move a few meters

"Yes. We decided to change the defense to prepare for Australia's top scorer, who couldn't do anything this time compared to previous matches" Rin replies disinterestedly, looking for you. There are just so many people, so many players or interviewers, but where the hell are you? Didn't something happen to you?

"It must also be said that Japan no longer has any problems in terms of strikers since you joined as an honorary member of the team" says the interviewer, and Rin nods without actually thinking much about what they told him. He just has a strange feeling, he doesn't understand why he isn't seeing you when it's never been difficult for him to find you in a crowd of people

"Any projects in mind at the moment? On a soccer level or on a personal level?" the interviewer asks, but Rin stops hearing him when, a few meters away from him, he sees you: you're a little lost, your gaze curious while you were probably looking for him too. It makes him somewhat tender to see you like this, but he is happy to know that all his doubts about whether something had happened to you are false

"Mr. Itoshi?" the man asks, but Rin takes a few steps forward, not enough to disappear from the camera lens, to signal to you that he's there. It doesn't take you long to notice, running like a little girl in his direction, hugging him as you wrap your arms around his neck, while he places his hands on your hips. "I couldn't find you!" you say laughing, holding onto your boyfriend who holds you close to him "It's the journalists' fault" Rin whispers, leaving a kiss on your cheek before remembering that he's in the middle of an interview. He turns just enough to see that the camera is now perfectly directed towards you, immortalizing the romantic moment between Japan's number one striker and his beautiful girlfriend. The edits will be crazy this time

You notice that the camera is pointed towards you, and a little embarrassed you try to smile without revealing the hint of discomfort "I'll be back later?" you say to your boyfriend, who before you can even finish the sentence, shakes his head as he grabs your wrist "No. You're coming too" he says walking back towards the station, squeezing your wrist affectionately. You follow him, a little embarrassed but it wasn't the first time it happened, so you had gotten used to it

Rin returns to his seat, his arm around your waist ignoring the fact that he almost slipped out of an interview. You stand next to him, your arm behind his back, smiling at the man who now knows both of them "Were you saying?" Rin asks, returning to the interview questions

"Oh, yeah yeah... any projects in mind at the moment? On a soccer level or on a personal level?" the interviewer asks again

Rin thinks about it for a moment. The plans are actually there. He must still become the best of the best, climb to the top and lead Japan to be the strongest team in the world. It simply has yet to break some of its limitations

But there are also other projects. He has to decide when to use that ring he bought more than a few months ago. He must understand when to kneel down and definitely ask you to become Miss Itoshi, his wife. These are mainly his most important projects at the moment

"I still have a lot to do, Japan has to become the most important and strongest team in the world, and maybe I will take on the role of team captain. On a personal level though... I don't know, I just want to continue what I already doing for a while… making her happy every day” Rin says, and you can swear you feel your heart explode

Your boyfriend isn't a big talker, you knew this even before we got together. But the facts speak, and he is doing exactly what he says: every day he makes you happy, and you couldn't be more grateful. His words may seem like nothing, but they mean a lot to you. You simply love him. The interviewer smiles. You turn to Rin and he leans down slightly to kiss you on the nose, making you giggle while the cameras film you

Maybe Rin could use that ring tonight, maybe?

[v1x3n]

TORTURE ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - torture, cutting, 'betrayal', forced intoxication, passing out, threats.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

You could see in his eyes he didn't want to believe it but you could also see the hatred in his eyes, the betrayal and the anger. 

He stood away from you, watching as ghost, who you had known as Simon, stood in front of you, a knife draped along your tear stained cheeks. Arms tugging at the ropes that held you up against a metal pipe centered in the room, your legs tied to the cold metal, the rope strangling your flesh, your skin around the rope glowing white as the blood slowly but surely stops flowing down to your ankles and arms. “Please” you sob, tears brimming your eyes, once again whilst his knife left your cheek. “I - it's not me!” 

They don't reply as your cries fill out the room when ghost pushes the blade of the knife against your cheek, a slit quickly appearing. Crimson blood drops from the wound, the deep wound stings. You hiss at the sharp pain as Price's eyes lock onto yours, his eyes filled with a rage you had never seen before.his expression remains stoic but you could tell - deep down - he was hurt. Hurt you had ‘done’ this, hurt he trusted you, hurt he saw the person he cared for dearly betrayed him like that. Like a sly fucking fox. 

John took a step closer towards you and Simon, his boots echoing loudly in the silent yet sob filled room, your breath caught as the knife swung down to your lower abdomen. You flinch at price getting as close as he can, face to face with you. You could feel his hot breath on you - and what does he do? He fucking smirks, seeing his cruel grin right in your face brings you with such fury. “It's not fucking me!” you scream into his ear, eyes welding with tears once more, tears that dare to fall down. 

Simon's face was stiff as he slices into you, a deep cut straight into your lower abdomen, the pain makes you shout out in pain, “stop!” the tears drop from your face, trailing down you and splashing onto the floor. “Give me one fucking reason why i shouldnt slit your throat right now.” Price coldly states, his dead eyes staring into yours - no sympathy found in his gorgeous blue eyes. The cut plastered onto your cheek stings as your salty tears pours into it. The burn hurts and causes you to scream out once more, ghost rolls his eyes -  a sight you had saw after giving him a stupid fucking joke but now it was used to mock. To tell you that he doesnt fucking care about your pain anymore, he doesnt care about the cuts , the wounds and the burns he caused you. He doesn't care about you being tied here, bare and for everyone to see for weeks. He doesn't care less about the way you cry - knowing he, no, both of them, had helped you time over time to stop you and to comfort you whilst times you sobbed in front of them. 

Why didn't they help now? 

Breathing seems to get harder as the blade presses deeper into you, ghost had told you about his tactics before - this is why you weren't scared of what was coming. Because you knew. He would wear the person down, inch by inch, by constant harm and fear. Nothing too much but eventually killing them - if they dont give him what he wanted in the end, but you could see deep down he wouldnt fucking kill you - well you hoped. 

They both watch as tears pour from your tear ducts, your chest rises and falls faster than the tears drooping down your body. "I said give me a good reason. Do it now." Price grunts out, his gaze unwavering. 

“i- its not me!” you manage to choke and scream out, your lungs burning as a painful cry escapes you. All ghost and price do is chuckle, “why the fuck Would we believe you?” ghost puts the knife down against the cold, bloody floor. Your body stings as you cry out once more, “Id n-never! I swear!” their coldness sends chills down your spine, how could the people who you once called family be this cruel ? this mean ? this fucking heartless ?

“Why would i betray you when i fucking love you, john!” you blurt out, water rolling from your eyes at how this is how you had to confess. Price almost flinches at your words, you could feel his breath hitch slightly. But you were so fucking stupid if you even thought for a second that he would believe you. Ghost snorts at your words whilst your captain's eyes soften for a moment.

The masked man's cold gaze flicked between you and price, his expression revealing nothing - you wouldn't be surprised. “P-please john, i love y-you” you sob out, eyes welding with large sparks of tears. The man you are pouring your heart out too scoffs at you, “do you think we are that fucking stupid?” he spits out. Your head stings as Simon yanks your hair back harshly so you could look him in the eyes, “shut up” Simon's grip onto your hair strings as he speaks the first words he has said since he brought you in this trauma filled room. 

“Tell me the truth, do not fucking lie to us.” 

You refuse to say anything, frozen as your sob at everything these fucking men, your family had done to you. The more and more pain they had put you in caused you, muted you even more. The first day was terrible, memories of that first night repeat in your mind when you're left alone, cold and shivering - unable to sleep due to the position you were put in, it aches you. They knew you hadnt fallen asleep either, your heart- wrenching screams echoed through the room, it wouldnt have mattered if you had kept them up either, they knew non of them could sleep a blink knowing the person they loved and cared about, the person they saw and worked aside every fucking day would betray them like that? The first night was terrifying but you thought that- you hoped that it was the end and they had came to their senses overnight and finally fucking thought about it, or found out who framed you? 

Simon undid the ropes that hung you up when your mind spiraled with past thoughts, your knees hit the hard ground, you groan and put out your hands as you finally touch the floor, you haven't been this close to walking or even standing in what? Weeks? You don't know how long it has been. Your gaze shifts down to your hand, reliving the moment when Johnny has cut off some fingers, now left with 8 fingers that clench onto the floor that your blood and tears covered. 

They both look down at you on the floor and step back , almost daring you to get up but you just couldn't. Price let out a sharp breath, running a filthy hand through his hair - his frustration and anger clear on his face. “If you talk-” john breathes through his nose, “if you tell us, it'll be much easier f’ you” 

“i didnt fucking do it!” you scream out which results in a quick kick to the ribs by ghost. You grunt and he kicks you again. Wincing to each batter to the ribs, “you're making this worse on yourself, love.” John sneers, peering down at your harmed body, clearly on the verge of just giving up. They watched as you gasped for air, your mutilated hand reaching out for the ground in front of you - to try to crawl away but something, or someone stops you. John's firm foot stood onto your ankle, the odd position you fell too causing your ankle to twist, you sob a cry . his foot stamping down and twisting it further, with ghost stomping onto your ribs and price close to breaking your ankle it was too much, your cries grew and grew - your body shook from the pain. 

They stand and watch as your cries grew stronger, your tears streaming down your face and your body twitching from the harsh pain. Simon grips onto your hair once more, pulling your scalp to make you look up at them, “open your fucking mouth” he spits. 

Price pulls out a flask of some sort and jolts it to your lips, you weren't listening so he forces it through your dry lips, the metal clinking with your teeth, “he said open.” he said firmly. You try to pull back away from the potion of some sorts they had brewed. Ghost yanks your hair towards it and the flask enters your mouth, hair pulled further so you're facing up to the ceiling as the liquid enters your mouth, it burns. 

“C'mon sweet’art, swallow it down” their wicked faces blur as you gag, the disgusting drink hitting the back of your throat and pouring down as ghost holds onto your nose, you gasp for air and the burning sensation makes its way through your throat. You gag at the potion, eyes meeting up with John, your old captain. “Tha’s a good girl, hm?” His words were kind and praise-filled but his tone was gruesome and harsh, his rough exterior plastered onto his face - he just simply didn't care about what he was doing to you, well, that's what you thought. You choke loudly, drips of saliva mixed with the fluid they had shoved into your mouth falls down your chin, they both stand back. Prepared for what's next, which was you spewing your guts out, completely emptying your stomach onto the ground, a small drop of blood hitting out with the vomit, your choking and gags fills out the room. Pure pain is how it felt. Your eyes sting with tears as you cough out the brew. 

Due to your weak body, you feel your mind spinning and youre body succumbs to the intense torture, your eyes flicker and your body goes slack. Vision blurring as you pass into unconsciousness - falling into a darkness that brings a relief from the pain.

The two men stood around you notice your body go limp, exchanging a quick glance to one another and sighing. They weren't expecting you to pass out so quickly but it wasn't that much of a surprise. Your limp body almost panics them too, so ghost crouches down and places two gloved fingers to your neck, to the side of your windpipe. Checking if you were still alive. “Looks like she's done” price gruffly speaks after ghost nods, reassuring you were still alive. The masked man stands up and straightens himself back up. “Lets go” his voice low, staring down at your unconscious body and running a hand through his hair once more. They both exit, leaving you there, luckily for you they didn't tie you back up to the pipe. You were just left there - slumped on the floor. 

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[takes1]

bokuto flirting with inexperienced!reader

nobody asked for this but i can't get this idea out of my head. second time i've written a kuroo's little sister thing and it just seems to read well imo?

warnings. nsfw themes, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / kuroo's little sister!reader / touchy!bokuto / flirty!bokuto / corruption kink!bokuto / virgin!reader / nerdy!reader / kuroo cockblocking / house party / protective kuroo / bokuto being a bad friend / bokuto crushing on you / 2.7k nsfw to follow, reply to be added to taglist

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my request box. part two here. part three here.

"The guys are comin' over at twelve." Tetsurou informed you with a flat tone. He didn't even look up from his phone as he swiped a banana from the counter.

"Don't care."

Your parents were gone on another business trip, meaning this weekend was a free for all. Your version of fun wouldn't sway far from your usual path, staying up, playing games on your laptop after you were done studying for finals; your older brother gravitated towards more social hobbies.

"Sooo, like," He spared a glance to see what you were doing, "Fuckin' scram. Before then."

Papers, handouts, and notebooks littered the breakfast counter. Your laptop played an educational video from one of your classes and you had propped your phone to look at another online text. One highlighter hit the floor a while ago but you hadn't picked it up yet.

When you didn't acknowledge him, completely in the zone, he scrunched up his nose.

"Did you hear me, dumbass?"

"Shuuuut-the-fuck-up-I'm-doooiiing-somethiiing."

In a colored pen, you inked in a corresponding bar from a practice problem so you could visualize the axes.

If you had checked the time, you would know you had maybe ten minutes before twelve to 'scram.'

One could smell the attitude coming off of him from a mile away. Though he didn't say anything to you, it was made crystal clear in the way he sucked his teeth at you and shoved a chair before he walked upstairs.

It wasn't, and would never be, explicitly spoken, but the reason he didn't want you around was because he knew some friends were just too weird around girls. Kenma was the only friend he trusted to be alone in a room with you, and that was because he didn't like anyone. The roster of guys coming over to play some Xbox, play a match in the backyard, drink up your parents' liquor, and sleep over could've been a suspect line if was asked to judge their moral character.

Your slow, neat line of pen for your next graph became a scribbled mess in less than a second as the doorbell started ringing in a slew of rapid presses.

DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING

"Get the door!" You yelled to the stairway, frustration waning only after a nasty sigh.

There was too much to move to your room. You didn't have enough space on your desk for a spread like this, even if you moved every current thing off of it.

Footsteps padded swift back down the steps, not even getting the opportunity to do what he intended to upstairs, and he jabbed a finger at you but you couldn't see.

"Hey!" He shouted. Like he was offended you raised your voice at him to grab the door.

You slammed your palms on the counter and took a breath to yell, just before he called to you from the door, incredibly stern, "Fuck off somewhere else."

"Get the stick out of your ass!" You rolled your eyes and, then and there, decided to not move for anything.

Tetsurou gritted his teeth and pulled open the door, but it didn't nothing to stop Bokuto from pressing the doorbell. Next to him was Akaashi, patiently watching the button-pressing. It was raining, so that meant no practice match; they would have to stay entertained inside.

His big, cheesy grin was hardly a relief, "Hey hey heyy, buddyy!"

"Hey," He said, distracted, thinking about how disastrous this might turn out. He wondered if it was too late to reserve space in the gym, or even cancel.

"Woah-ho-ho," Bokuto giggled at his less-than-enthusiastic greeting and squeezed past him, unwilling to wait outside for any longer, "Don't sound so excited!"

The big, hulking presence stopped in the doorway, hastily removing his wet jacket and shoes. He retold the events of getting here in the rain, sparing Akaashi a few seconds in between to fix his embellished details. He was speaking to Tetsurou at such a volume that you had to search for your earbuds to drown his loud mouth out.

DINGDINGDINGDINGDING--

Maybe all of his stupid friends would ring the bell the same way. Thankfully, he was right there to open it and tell the next two groups to stop.

Soon, your living room was filled with almost all of Nekoma (only a few of which you could recognize from the handful of his games you had attended), and some guys you had never seen before.

It got so loud, so fast.

Your stubborn streak wasn't serving you well. Despite the separation you got from the one wall between you and the entryway, all the sound still poured into the kitchen through the open layout. Your technology wouldn't hold up to how loud a bunch of high school guys could get.

Tetsurou slinked into the kitchen, slow, quiet despite you both staring at each other.

He slid next to you, elbow scrunching one of your precious papers. He had that shitty, low-lidded smirk on his face.

Another boisterous laugh sounded through from the other room and your wince was only proof of your predicament. It sounded like they were fighting, or wrestling, or something that needed to be done outside.

He whispered, "Are you ready to give up?"

"Once you drop dead," You whispered back, clicking your pen ready.

His nostrils flared at your resilience. "You aren't even studying--,"

"Sooo! Where's all that liquor you promised, Kuroo?"

You watched your brother freeze up at the new voice coming into the kitchen. It was genuine distress that flashed across his face for half a second - you wouldn't have had the chance to see it, if he wasn't so up in your business. You turned just in time to watch a guy who didn't go to your school strut in.

"Woah!" He looked straight past your brother, right to you, "Who's thiiis?"

Tetsurou put his hand on your shoulder, something he never did, so you brushed it off as he started, "This is my--,"

"Heyy, Pretty," Bokuto sang just to you, big eyes trailing up, down, and back again, blatantly ignoring his friend.

You laughed at the interaction between them and his nickname for you. He was super hot. It left your brother impatient.

He closed the distance to shake your hand, unable to keep his eyes on just your face.

"This is my little sister," Tetsurou asserted, louder, this time.

The palm on the guy was so huge that you couldn't grip it. His hand could've easily crushed yours but he chose to shake it gently, then held it with both hands when he closed more distance.

"Hmm," He chuckled, "Hey, little sister. My name's Bokuto, but you can call me Ace."

You told him your name in an enamored giggle- biting your lip when he cupped his ear to hear it again, so you repeated it, surely less intelligible.

"(Y/n)?" He asked, jovial, like he was trying to make you keep laughing. He succeeded, "That's nice, but I like Pretty better."

Tetsurou moved himself between you, not a big enough presence to make Bokuto stop touching you or talking in the slightest.

"It suits you, yeah?"

Your brother cleared his throat so loud that it sounded cartoonish. Your fingers slipped from his hand, despite his attempts to keep them all to himself, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking down and away. His anger was tangible.

Tetsurou stepped in front of you and faced him. They went just outside of the open doorway. It left you to clean up your papers, laptop, pens, highlighters, books. He muttered many things, but you only caught:

"You serious?" Met with: "Relax, dude!"

"Do I need to worry about you the whole fucking weekend, bro?" Answered with: "Obviously not!"

"This is a line. Don't- don't cross it." Satisfied with: "Have some faith in me, bud, come on."

His friend drama wasn't your problem, but it was oh-so-entertaining to listen to. You fixed up your belongings very slowly so that when they came back, you didn't look so suspicious.

To your dismay, only Tetsurou came back in. He squinted at your gathered things.

"Good. Go upstairs," He said, so simple, with half of his attention on you, half on his friends horsing around in the living room, as if it was normal- as if you had ever tolerated him speaking to you like that before.

You threw a pen at his face, laughing loud with pure delight when it left a streak on his jaw. You had incidentally left it open.

There were few times you had seen him so indelibly angry.

The speed at which he nabbed the pen off of the the floor and hurled it back at you was worthy of a world-record. You only managed to dodge it because you knew what he was going to do before he did.

It shattered on the cupboard, ink exploding all over the floor, staining the counter.

There was almost no time to make a smartass comment, because as soon as you conjured one and inhaled to say it, something crashed in the living room. It sounded eerily mother's-favorite-vase-like.

He was teeming with contempt.

You didn't say anything back when he held his hand up, silently forbidding you from following him to investigate the now-silent room.

It was all his fault, when you thought about it. He dug his grave, since he decided on his own to have all of his rowdy friends over. It wasn't on you that he broke a pen, his friends broke a vase, and his best friend was so sweet to you in the first thirty minutes of the weekend starting.

While you could have left the mess for him to clean up, you didn't want to go upstairs just yet. Once you did, you'd have to justify coming back down. So, you pulled out some cleaning supplies under the sink and started picking up the little sharp plastic pieces of pen.

"Woah, what happened in here?"

You perked right up at the voice, somehow embarrassed to be found like this.

Bokuto threw a look over his shoulder before he fully came in. When he decided to enter, a big smile took up his whole face, making all his handsome features super friendly-looking.

He wasted no time sliding over the tile to squat next to you and inspect the damage.

"Tetsurou threw a pen," You said, quiet, avoiding his attentive stare.

He shook his head, disapproving, and started collecting the pieces with you. He gladly took your hand in his so he could place them in your palm. It was so unnecessary, but it made you giggle again.

"You like studying?" His head dipped to see more of your face, eyes bouncing around to take in all of your features.

It made you shy away and stand to throw the pieces out. But he followed just to watch you, amused at your mannerisms.

"Not really-," You squeezed past him, beginning to spray at and wipe off the ink, sparing a glance to your stuff on the counter, "I mean, there is something nice about it- but,"

Bokuto was too entranced by your lips to properly listen to you ramble. He glanced up to your eyes only on occasion, otherwise sporting an intense stare at your cute mouth, or the way you used your already busy hands when you spoke.

Soon you had told him too much, and there was no ink to clean up anymore, so you returned to sit on the stool next to the counter.

"I didn't know Kuroo had a sister," He sighed.

He chose not to sit, but to stand over you, just so that you had no option but to look up at him.

"Especially not one so cute," His knuckle grazed your warm cheek as you smiled at the floor, "God, you really are such a cutie, huh? You got a boyfriend?"

Your body braced at his touch. He took a step forward, one hand on the counter behind you.

"Mm-mm," You tried to meet his eyes, but it was impossible.

Staring at his body wasn't a bad deal, though. His shirt fit him nice and tight at the shoulders, then loosened, a little flowy at his waist thanks to his impressive build.

"That's good," His fingers dipped to your chin, gently bringing your face to look at him.

This you could only stand for a moment or two. You pushed his forearm down so he would stop touching your face, making you look this way and that.

He sighed, keeping his arm near you in case you wanted to keep your hands on him, but once he understood it wouldn't happen, he put it on the other side of you.

"I've- never had a boyfriend," You admitted, breathless at the pressure of such proximity.

It was mostly as a way to excuse your bashfulness, in partial hopes that he didn't take your hesitation as a sign of rejection.

You loved the attention. It was difficult to keep up with, but it didn't mean that you didn't want it.

His knuckles were white against the counter behind your back. His breath shallowed out. He had a hard time catching it, left recovering from the carnal reaction to such a perfect opportunity sitting before him.

All he heard was the chance to be unrivaled- a white knight of the bedroom, in a sense. To drag out that cute, adoring look on your face for as long as it took to break you in. His jaw tensed, his friendly smile faltering at the thought of what he could show you, teach you, be the very first to do to you.

He grinned, "No wonder he wants to keep you locked up, then."

♕VIP♕

@integers @yuchacco

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reply to be added for future parts!

[moonstruckme]

I’m begging for emt marauders where r dislocated her shoulder a stupid way and so r goes to another hospital to avoid them but then they show up bc their hospital is was on a bypass and see r

Thanks for requesting!

cw: shoulder injury no description

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

It’s dark, and despite the cloak of poor lighting and the distance between you, you lock eyes with James from across the parking lot. His brows furrow and he nearly drops the gurney he’s lowering out of his ambulance, Sirius hopping down to help. You see his lips form your name. 

Sirius’ head snaps up. 

There’s nowhere to hide. You shoot them a sheepish smile, your footsteps stalling before you remember to get out of the crosswalk. Remus’ head appears a moment later, peering out of the back of the ambulance. He helps James lower their patient onto the pavement, the both of them shooting worried glances at you as they wheel him inside and Sirius takes off towards you. 

“What the fuck?” he calls as he jogs over. Your boyfriend’s dark hair is tied back in a short ponytail, and it gleams under the fluorescent lights outside the hospital. He looks from your face, to where you’re holding your arm tight to your side, and back again. “What are you doing here?” 

“I, um, didn’t think I’d see you.” It’s out before you can think it through, but in all fairness you’re having a bit of a strenuous evening. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. “That’s not what I asked. Sweetheart, what did you do to yourself?” 

You rub your lips together, feeling suddenly very sorry for yourself. Your shoulder really does hurt a lot. “I think I might’ve dislocated my shoulder?” 

“How’d you manage that?”

You hesitate. “Don’t laugh.” 

“Don’t laugh about what?” James asks as he joins you. Remus isn’t far behind. James peers at your arm, looking about as sorry for you as you are. “Are you hurt?” 

“She thinks she’d dislocated it,” Sirius informs him. 

“What were you doing?” Remus moves to your side, setting a comforting hand on your back as he touches near it gingerly. You hiss through your teeth and he stops. 

“You guys can’t laugh at me,” you insist. 

“Well, now I think I might not be able to help myself.” Sirius is smiling at you slightly, though his brows are still bunched with sympathy. “Come on, out with it.” 

You chew your bottom lip. Remus’ eyebrow lifts expectantly. “Okay,” you breathe out, “um, you know how I’ve been going out to rollerskate lately?” 

Remus’ expression clouds over. “I told you that was dangerous,” he says. “Were you wearing your pads?”

“Angel, this late?” James appears scandalized. “It’s been dark for hours!” 

You feel your face heat, growing more sheepish by the second. Sirius gives you a stern look. “Go on,” he says. 

“There was decent lighting and everything, but I accidentally started going down this hill, and I was going, um, really quite fast.” All three of your boyfriends tense in anticipation. “So I threw myself into the grass and I think I landed on my shoulder wrong.” 

Sirius gives a little chuckle, ignoring your glare. “You think?”

“Okay, I’ll admit,” says Remus, “that is a slightly funny image. But it’s less funny that you actually got hurt, dove. Did you come all the way out here just to avoid running into us?” 

You’re too surprised to hide your wince. Trust Remus to have you completely pegged without so much as a conversation. 

James’ lips part at your reaction. “Did you really?” 

“What are you even doing here?” you ask, shamefaced. 

Sirius crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at you. “Our hospital’s on bypass,” he answers. 

You shrink further under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Angel,” James sighs. He steps closer and cups the back of your head, resting his lips heavily on your hairline. “Well, there’s no avoiding us now,” he says, straightening. “We haven’t taken our breaks yet, want us to sit with you while they get you sorted?” 

“Yes, please,” you reply in a small voice. 

Remus makes a compassionate sound in his throat, encouraging you towards the entrance with his hand on your back. “We’d better get you in, then. Hopefully we’ll be able to expedite things with the three of us here.” 

You start to relax, two of your boyfriends seemingly haven forgiven your secrecy. You chance a look at the third, still watching you with a stern expression as you walk towards the hospital doors. He catches your look and flicks up a brow. 

“You’d better still tell me I’m handsome when my hair is all gray,” he says, in the kind of severe tone that makes you doubt whether he’s teasing. “It’s already starting at the roots, and you’re entirely to blame.” 

You quell the urge to smile. “You’ll always be handsome,” you tell him sincerely. 

“That’s the attitude.” Sirius walks backwards in front of you, pecking you firmly on the lips before falling back into step beside you. “Keep rehearsing those lines, sweetheart. I’ll be needing to hear them more often if you keep up with this rollerskating bullshit.”